


Just Keep Swimming

by Laineyvb131



Category: Madam Secretary
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, SMUTTY SMUT
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-22 16:20:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22618933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laineyvb131/pseuds/Laineyvb131
Summary: This scene is not Disney-ifed in the least; I just borrowed a phrase from two cartoon fish. Set in S6E8, after Henry and Elizabeth’s conversation in The White House Residence in front of the window.  Longer than a drabble, shorter than a one-shot, and I actually wrote another version of this, which might make them all together a ficlet. Also, you know we were all thinking the same thing about that skirt.
Relationships: Elizabeth McCord/Henry McCord
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7





	Just Keep Swimming

“Sure you don’t want to do cardio with me?” Henry repeated, his tone laded with suggestion. Elizabeth narrowed her eyes at him, surprised at his persistence. 

Henry didn’t want to push her- as the First Gentleman, he respected the obligations she carried, the burdens she shouldered as the leader of their country. But as her husband, he needed to ease her mind, to give his wife a distraction from the stress and anxiety weighing on her heart. More than anything, he needed to reassure her that he was the one person she could trust, above all else, and always would be. But despite his confidence that Elizabeth would follow his lead, Henry hesitated. Her fragility unnerved him. 

“What do you have in mind?” Her question was soft, almost shy, but desire warmed the sadness in her eyes. He took her mouth again, more thoroughly this time, sliding his tongue against hers when her lips parted. Stroking his forearm elbow to wrist, she interlaced their fingers, shifting their joined hands to rest against her throat. Henry drew back, watching her carefully, and Elizabeth nodded, almost imperceptibly, at the question in his gaze. 

Henry’s fingers cupped her neck, and his thumb stroked the delicate skin under which her pulse began to race. “I’m gonna fuck you, and you’re gonna take it,” he promised, in a near whisper, his voice gravelly with lust. 

Elizabeth shuddered slightly and slowly closed her eyes. Her authority was being challenged from every angle, but with him, total surrender gave her the ultimate power. So she gave herself to him, willingly allowed his domination, and with it, gained everything. She’d always have him, always have them. 

When her eyes opened and met his, the brilliant blue shone with love and trust. Henry raked his hand down her chest, popping the gold buttons until the fabric yielded to the force of his movements. The metal pieces scattered like leaves in a storm, clattering lightly across the floor. When Elizabeth sputtered in protest, Henry replied, “I’ll deal with those later. You’re going to need another blouse today, anyway.” 

With the heel of his hand between her breasts, Henry pushed Elizabeth backward, so she sprawled, knees caught on the armrest of the couch, hips raised against the pillows underneath her. Her head was thrown back, the expanse of her neck offered for his mouth to feast on. The sight alone churned Henry’s primal instinct to claim her as his, to take them both to nirvana and escape reality for a while. Henry crawled over her, a predator of a different nature, one Elizabeth welcomed. She wanted to feel the heat of him surrounding her, his hands on her skin, his mouth on hers. 

When Henry pressed his hips into her, the seam of her skirt popped, strained by his weight. Grasping her wrists, he pinned Elizabeth’s hands near her head. His teeth nibbled along her collarbone, pushing her blouse to the side with his chin when the material impeded his progress. Elizabeth turned her head, giving him more access. Frustrated at the barriers from her clothing, unable to get close enough to rub his cock against her core, Henry shifted slightly. He grasped the edges of the slit in the fabric and jerked his arms apart. The sharp sound of rending fabric echoed loudly in the thick silence as he tore the skirt to her waist. 

“I hope you didn’t like this outfit.” 

Elizabeth gasped, and tried to prop herself up on her elbows, only to be stopped by her husband’s mouth against her breastbone. Henry didn’t give her room to move, and trailed kisses down the opening of her blouse, using his body and his mouth to hold her in place. Henry rubbed his torso along hers, their clothing creating friction as if they were stripped naked. Her nipples peaked against the satin of her bra as his teeth nipped the swell of her breasts. 

He hooked her left thigh over his shoulder, resting her calf on the back of the couch, and pressed her right leg open with the palm of his hand. His index finger and thumb slotted in the creases of her leg and groin, stroking her already sensitive flesh. Her body responded to his whims, and Elizabeth whimpered slightly at his touch.

Henry tugged roughly at her underwear, crooking his fingers under the edges to expose her to him. His breath was hot on her skin, rocketing her arousal higher with anticipation. 

“Henry.” His name was a desperate, breathy plea as Elizabeth canted her hips toward his mouth, straining against his hands. 

Henry licked her entire pussy with the flat of his tongue, sealing his lips around her clit to suckle. Pleasure slammed through her body as he ate her out mercilessly. Elizabeth tried to grind against his face, but had no leverage against the soft cushions. He traced patterns over her slick flesh, enough to tease, but not enough to push her over the edge. When Henry tasted her arousal on his tongue, he scraped his teeth against her, then lifted his head. Elizabeth moaned, bereft, shaking with the need he’d stoked within her. His grin flashed dark and wicked. 

Bending over again, Henry tucked his hands under her armpits, shoving Elizabeth farther up the couch. He jerked her underwear down her legs and over her shoes, tossing the lace to the floor. Wedging his body between her thighs, he planted one foot on the floor and pressed his knee against the armrest. In a quick move, he freed himself from his shorts and boxers and plunged, burying himself fully inside her. He braced against his left arm, shoving his right hand between their bodies. His pelvis trapped his thumb against her clit, palm covering her mound, his hips providing added friction with shallow, rutting thrusts. 

The furniture shifted slightly along the floor as he began to fuck her harder, losing control from the burning passion she created in him. Elizabeth bent her knee up to her chest, wrapping her other leg around his waist. Shifting her hips changed the angle of her pelvis, and forced a guttural moan from her throat when Henry bottomed out as he thrust again. Her heel dug into his ass and her nails scored his shoulders through his t-shirt as she begged him for more. Henry grabbed the back of the couch, knuckles white, forearms straining as he drove himself deeper, faster. Her fingers fisted in his hair, tugging enough to sting, spurring him closer to his own climax. When Elizabeth stiffened and cried out, the muscles of her core fluttering in orgasm, Henry poured himself into her with a groan. 

For a long moment, their heavy breathing echoed in the silence. Henry held his weight off Elizabeth to keep from smothering her, or falling to the floor, but quickly lost the battle to exertion. He carefully pushed himself up from the couch, tucking his shorts back in place. Elizabeth laid still with her arms stretched above her head, her tattered clothing draped around her, blonde hair spread over the cushions; to Henry, she looked both exquisitely beautiful and heartbreakingly sad. 

“It’s a good thing we went for the oversized couch in here, so we could both fit when we wanted to cuddle.” Her lips curved slightly with her attempt at levity. 

“Cuddling? Well, that’s a bit more PG than what we just did.” Henry chuckled, but quickly sobered as Elizabeth’s eyes filled with unshed tears.

“Babe.” He reached for her, his own heart aching. Henry drew her arms around his neck to gather her into his embrace. “Here, hold on to me.” His words were heavy with meaning, and Elizabeth clung to him for support. Gently, Henry settled her on the armrest of the couch, mirroring her earlier posture. His lips tenderly caressed her temple, the gesture even more intimate in contrast to their frantic lovemaking. He felt Elizabeth trembling and tucked her more tightly against him. Henry stroked her back, his hands soothing and gentle, and felt her relax under his ministrations. When he combed his fingers through her hair, Elizabeth sniffled and gathered herself. 

“The sharks are still circling.” Her voice was muffled against the skin in the crook of his neck. 

Henry murmured his agreement but said no more, content to hold her as long as she needed. 

Elizabeth finally lifted her head. “But I can keep swimming when you’re beside me.” She cupped Henry’s face with her hands, searching his gaze with her own. Buoyed by the love she found, she laid her lips on his again, lingering as if to absorb his strength. 

Elizabeth pulled away with a heavy sigh, squeezing Henry’s biceps as she slid out of his arms. She took a step toward the bedroom, then did a double-take at her feet. “How did my shoes manage to stay on through all of that?” she marveled, shaking her head. 

Henry grinned, relieved that Elizabeth’s humor had returned. “You and your shoes.” He shrugged.

Elizabeth clicked her heels together in jest as her grin mirrored his. Eyes sparkling with laughter, she glanced pointedly at the floor, then back at Henry. “Don’t forget to clean up your mess.”

Then with a wink, she walked through the doorway to change her clothes and face her enemies for another day.

**Author's Note:**

> I chose to ignore the obvious fact that Elizabeth is wearing the same outfit in the next scene in Russell’s office. She has a zillion blouses that look similar, and maybe Roxanne bought her two identical skirts, or maybe Elizabeth called a White House seamstress (does one even exist?) with a sheepish excuse. Regardless, I’m temporarily smothering the muse that insists I stick to canon. A little fantasy never hurt anyone. *shrug* I also can picture Henry, on his hands and knees, hunting down tiny buttons at Elizabeth’s insistence, with a smug smirk on his face.


End file.
